POEMS ABOUT ADAM, EVE, LUCIFER, EDEN AND THE FALLA Poem by Michael R. BurchPOEMS ABOUT ADAM, EVE, LUCIFER, EDEN AND THE FALL
What, then, would the children eat? Outcasts
The most dazzling of all the Earth’s flowers, Beasts with lips called the goreflower “Love.” The scribes have the story all wrong: four were there, Aduhm placed one red petal in Ehve’s matted hair; he was lost in her arms Two flared nostrils quivered, two eyes remained open. Kahyn sought me that evening, his bloodless lips curled “We are outcasts, my brother!, God quickly deserts us.” “Shining Creature!” he named me and called me divine “There is a dark rose with a bittersweet fragrance “But red is Ehve’s preference; while Envy is green.” Disagreeable child, far too clever for his own good. Published in The Bible of Hell (anthology) Temptation
And it’s true, I believe, Hardly the great “temptation” He was a likeable chap, really, I left him there, the pale supplicant, Published in The Bible of Hell (anthology) You!
For forty years You would not open to me; For forty years You have not broken me Like a child dismissed, and "heaven"―a list. Published in The Bible of Hell (anthology) NOTE: I call mercy “chance” and heaven a “list” because the bible says its “god” predestines some people to be “vessels of mercy” and others to be “vessels of destruction.” Thus mercy is reduced to the chance of birth and heaven is a precompiled list of the lucky chosen few. Of course there is no reason to believe in such a diabolical “god” or such an unjust “heaven” ... but billions have, and do. Willy Nilly
Isn’t it silly, Willy Nilly? Isn’t it silly, Willy Nilly? Adam Lay Ybounden
No One
No One hears the cannon’s roar No One knows the world will end, Bikini
Something old when the world was forming Ceremony
Shimmering hordes of blue-green bottleflies sing whispering, “I do!” . . . as the gaunt vultures stare. Exile
Where We Dwell
Published in The Bible of Hell (anthology) What Immense Silence
What luminescence stained What brings them here― Or could they be right? Perhaps why is it God that they fear? Published in The Bible of Hell These are poems about Adam and Eve, Lucifer aka Satan aka Mephistopheles, the Garden of Eden, Cain and Abel, the forbidden fruit, "original sin," the Fall and its bitter aftermath... lust! by michael r. burch i was only a child in a world dark and wild seeking affection in eyes mild and in all my bright dreams sweet love shimmered, beguiled ... but the black-robed Priest who called me the least of all god’s creation then spoke for the Beast: He called my great passion a thing base, defiled! He condemned me to hell, the foul Ne’er-Do-Well, for the sake of the copper His Pig-Snout could smell in the purse of my mother, “the w***e jezebel.” my sweet passions condemned by degenerate men? and she so devout she exclaimed, “yay, aye-men!” ... together we learned why Religion is hell. Pagans Protest the Intolerance of Christianity by Michael R. Burch “We have a common sky.”―Quintus Aurelius Symmachus (c. 345-402) We had a common sky before the Christians came. We thought there might be gods but did not know their names. The common stars above us? They winked, and would not tell. Yet now our fellow mortals claim our questions merit hell! The cause of our damnation? They claim they’ve seen the LIGHT ... but still the stars wink down at us, as wiser beings might. One of the Flown by Michael R. Burch Forgive me for not having known you were one of the flown― flown from the distant haunts of someone else’s enlightenment, alighting here to a darkness all your own . . . I imagine you perched, pretty warbler, in your starched dress, before you grew bellicose . . . singing quaint love’s highest falsetto notes, brightening the pew of some dilapidated church . . . But that was before autumn’s messianic dark hymns . . . Deepening on the landscape―winter’s inevitable shadows. Love came too late; hope flocked to bare meadows, preparing to leave. Then even the thought of life became grim, thinking of Him . . . To flee, finally,―that was no whim, no adventure, but purpose. I see you now a-wing: pale-eyed, intent, serious: always, always at the horizon’s broadening rim . . . How long have you flown now, pretty voyager? I keep watch from afar: pale lover and voyeur. what the “Chosen Few” really pray for by Michael R. Burch We are ready to be robed in light, angel-bright despite Our intolerance; ready to enter Heaven and never return (dark, this sojourn); ready to worse-ship any gaud able to deliver Us from this flawed existence; We pray with the persistence of actual saints to be delivered from all earthly constraints: just kiss each uplifted Face with lips of gentlest grace, cooing the sweetest harmonies while brutally crushing Our enemies! ah-Men! Double Cross by Michael R. Burch Come to the cross; contemplate all loss and how little was gained by those who remained uncrucified. Dabble Dactyls by Michael R. Burch Sniggledy-Wriggledy Jesus Christ’s enterprise leaves me in awe of the rich men he loathed! But should a Sadducee settle for trifles? His disciples now rip off the Lord they betrothed. I, Lazarus by Michael R. Burch I, Lazarus, without a heart, devoid of blood and spiritless, lay in the darkness, meritless: my corpse―a thing cold, dead, apart. But then I thought I heard―a Voice, a Voice that called me from afar. And so I stood and laughed, bizarre: a thing embalmed, made to rejoice! I ran ungainly-legged to see who spoke my name, and then I knew him by the light. His name is True, and now he is the life in me! I never died again! Believe! (Oops! Seems it was a brief reprieve.) To Know You as Mary by Michael R. Burch To know You as Mary, when You spoke her name and her world was never the same ... beside the still tomb where the spring roses bloom. O, then I would laugh and be glad that I came, never minding the chill, the disconsolate rain ... beside the still tomb where the spring roses bloom. I might not think this earth the sharp focus of pain if I heard You exclaim― beside the still tomb where the spring roses bloom my most unexpected, unwarranted name! But you never spoke. Explain? Prayer for a Merciful, Compassionate, etc., God to Murder His Creations Quickly & Painlessly, Rather than Slowly & Painfully by Michael R. Burch Lord, kill me fast and please do it quickly! Please don’t leave me gassed, archaic and sickly! Why render me mean, rude, wrinkly and prickly? Lord, why procrastinate? Lord, we all know you’re an expert killer! Please, don’t leave me aging like Phyllis Diller! Why torture me like some poor sap in a thriller? God, grant me a gentler fate! Lord, we all know you’re an expert at murder like Abram―the wild-eyed demonic goat-herder who’d slit his son’s throat without thought at your order. Lord, why procrastinate? Lord, we all know you’re a terrible sinner! What did dull Japheth eat for his 300th dinner after a year on the ark, growing thinner and thinner? God, grant me a gentler fate! Dear Lord, did the lion and tiger compete for the last of the lambkin’s sweet, tender meat? How did Noah preserve his fast-rotting wheat? God, grant me a gentler fate! Lord, why not be a merciful Prelate? Do you really want me to detest, loathe and hate the Father, the Son and their Ghostly Mate? Lord, why procrastinate? Star Crossed by Michael R. Burch Remember― night is not like day; the stars are closer than they seem ... now, bending near, they seem to say the morning sun was merely a dream ember. The beauty of the flower fades, its petals wither to charades... ―Michael R. Burch the U-turn poem by michael r. burch Life so defaulty, Life so unfair, why do wee prize U, what do U care? LORD who lets unborns drown in a flood, CELESTIAL ABORTIONIST, r U sure Ur understood? Hellion by michael r. burch cold as stone, cold to the bone, so cold inside even icebergs moan, such is ur Gaud on hiss icy throne. lines written for a luverly Gaud who cant be bothered to save pisspot peeple who guess wrong about which ire-ational re-ligion to believe. “Hellion” is a pun on “he-lion” as in the “Lion of Judah” and “hell-lion.” yet another ode to a graceless faceless Creator albeit with thoughts of possibly rescinding prior compliments by michael r. burch who created this graceless universe? why praise its Creator? who could be worse? why praise man’s Berater with obsequious verse? job’s wife was right: he’s nobody’s nurse. ur-Gent prayer request by michael r. burch where did ur Gaud originate? in the minds of men so full of hate they commanded moms to stone their kids, which u believe (brains on the skids) was “the word of Gaud”! debate? too late & of course it’s useless: please pray to be less clueless. The title involves a pun, since the “ur-Gent” would be the biblical “god.” Religion is regarded by fools as true, by the wise as false, and by rulers as useful. ― Seneca, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Non-Word to the Wise by Michael R. Burch The wise will never cry, “Save!” The wise desire a quiet grave. sonnet to non-science and nonsense/nunsense by michael r. burch ur Gaud is a fiasco, a rapscallion and a rascal; he murdered lovely eve, so what’s there to “believe”? and who made eve so curious? why should ur Gaud be furious when every half-wit parent knows where bright kids will stick their no’s(e)! no wise and loving father would slaughter his own daughter! ur Gaud’s a hole-y terror! CONSIDER THE SOURCE OF ERROR: though ur bible’s a giant hit, its writers were full of sh-t. We Know It All by Michael R. Burch We rile. We gall. We know it all because we’ve read the Bible, which tells us genocide’s “God’s will” along with bashing in kids’ skulls and other forms of libel. The earth is flat, our Book says so! The Lord will torture our rational foe! (We lack the compassion to tell the fiend “No!”) God’s on his throne, the Angels are winking, applauding our lack of critical thinking. We’re drowning in crap. We’re stinking and sinking. Eve once petted friendly T-Rexes! A “witch” should be stoned for unprovable hexes! It’s a “sin” to make love if one’s lover has exes! Girls were enslaved and raped by their “masters”! Our Book is the source of so many disasters! The earth’s overheating? Let’s burn it up faster! Yet Another Sh-tty Ditty by Michael R. Burch Here’s my ditty: Life is sh-tty, Then you get old And more’s the pity. Truth be told, We’re bought and sold, Sheep in the fold Sheared lickety-splitty. But chin’s up, What’s the use of crying? We’ve a certain escape: Welcome to dying! Snap Shots by Michael R. Burch Our daughters must be celibate, die virgins. We triangulate their early paths to heaven (for the martyrs they’ll soon conjugate). We like to hook a little tail. We hope there’s decent a*s in jail. Don’t fool with us; our bombs are smart! (We’ll send the plans, ASAP, e-mail.) The soul is all that matters; why hoard gold if it offends the eye? A pension plan? Don’t make us laugh! We have your plan for sainthood. (Die.) Breakings by Michael R. Burch I did it out of pity. I did it out of love. I did it not to break the heart of a tender, wounded dove. But gods without compassion ordained: Frail things must break! Now what can I do for her shattered psyche’s sake? I did it not to push. I did it not to shove. I did it to assist the flight of indiscriminate Love. But gods, all mad as hatters, who legislate in all such matters, ordained that everything irreplaceable shatters. A coming day by Michael R. Burch for my mother, due to her hellish religion There will be a day, a day when the lightning strikes from a rainbowed mist when it will be too late, too late for me to say that I found your faith unblessed. There will be a day, a day when the storm clouds gather, ominous, when it will be too late, too late to put away this darkness that came between us. Hellbound by Michael R. Burch Mother, it’s dark and you never did love me because you put Yahweh and Yeshu above me. Did they ever love you or cling to you? No. Now Mother, it’s cold and I fear for my soul. Mother, they say you will leave me and go to some distant “heaven” I never shall know. If that’s your choice, you made it. Not me. You brought me to life; will you nail me to the tree? Christ! Mother, they say God condemned me to hell. If the Devil’s your God then farewell, farewell! Or if there is Love in some other dimension, let’s reconcile there and forget such cruel detention. Crescendo Against Heaven by Michael R. Burch As curiously formal as the rose, the imperious Word grows until it sheds red-gilded leaves: then heaven grieves love’s tiny pool of crimson recrimination against God, its contention of the price of salvation. These industrious trees, endlessly losing and re-losing their leaves, finally unleashing themselves from earth, lashing themselves to bits, washing themselves free of all but the final ignominy of death, become at last: fast planks of our coffins, dumb. Together now, rude coffins, crosses, death-cursed but bright vermilion roses, bodies, stumps, tears, words: conspire together with a nearby spire to raise their Accusation Dire ... to scream, complain, to point out these and other Dark Anomalies. God always silent, ever afar, distant as Bethlehem’s retrograde star, we point out now, in resignation: You asked too much of man’s beleaguered nation, gave too much strength to his Enemy, as though to prove Your Self greater than He, at our expense, and so men die (whose accusations vex the sky) yet hope, somehow, that You are good ... just, O greatest of Poets!, misunderstood. Advice for Evangelicals by Michael R. Burch “... so let your light shine before men ...” Consider the example of the woodland anemone: she preaches no sermons but ― immaculate ― shines, and rivals the angels in bright innocence and purity ― the sweetest of divines. And no one has heard her engage in hypocrisy since the beginning of time ― an oracle so mute, so profound in her silence and exemplary poise she makes lessons moot. So consider the example of the saintly anemone and if you’d convince us Christ really exists, then let him be just as sweet, just as guileless and equally as gracious to bless. Heaven Bent by Michael R. Burch This life is hell; it can get no worse. Summon the coroner, the casket, the hearse! But I’m upwardly mobile. How the hell can I know? I can only go up; I’m already below! Winter Night by Michael R. Burch Who will be damned, who embalmed for all eternity? The night weighs heavy on me― leaden, sullen, cold. O, but my thoughts are light, like the weightless windblown snow. Published by Nisqually Delta Review Intimations by Michael R. Burch Let mercy surround us with a sweet persistence. Let love propound to us that life is infinitely more than existence. Published by Katrina Anthology Flight by Michael R. Burch Poetry captures less than reality the spirit of things being the language not of the lordly falcon but of the dove with broken wings whose heavenward flight though brutally interrupted is ever towards the light. Published by Katrina Anthology Ave Maria by Michael R. Burch Ave Maria, Maiden mild, listen to my earnest prayer. Listen, O, and be beguiled. Ave Maria. Ave Maria, Maiden mild, be Mother now to every child beset by earth’s thorned briars wild. Ave Maria. Ave Maria, Maiden mild, embrace us with your Love and Grace. Let us look upon your Face. Ave Maria. Ave Maria, Maiden mild, please attend to our earnest call― When will Love be All in All? Ave Maria. Copyright © 2020 by Michael R. Burch A Possible Argument for Mercy by Michael R. Burch Did heaven ever seem so far? Remember―we are as You were, but all our lives, from birth to death― Gethsemane in every breath. Birthday Poem to Myself by Michael R. Burch LORD, be no longer this Distant Presence, Star-Afar, Righteous-Anonymous, but come! Come live among us; come dwell again, happy child among men― men rejoicing to have known you in the familiar manger’s cool sweet light scent of unburdened hay. Teach us again to be light that way, with a chorus of angelic songs lessoned above. Be to us again that sweet birth of Love in the only way men can truly understand. Do not frown darkening down upon an unrighteous land planning fierce Retributions we require, and deserve, but remember the child you were; believe in the child I was, alike to you in innocence a little while, all sweetness, and helpless without pretense. Let us be little children again, magical in your sight. Grant me this boon! Is it not my birthright― just to know you, as you truly were, and are? Come, be my friend. Help me understand and regain Hope’s long-departed star! Learning to Fly by Michael R. Burch We are learning to fly every day . . . learning to fly― away, away . . . O, love is not in the ephemeral flight, but love, Love! is our destination― graced land of eternal sunrise, radiant beyond night! Let us bear one another up in our vast migration. The Gardener’s Roses by Michael R. Burch Mary Magdalene, supposing him to be the gardener, saith unto him, “Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away.” I too have come to the cave; within: strange, half-glimpsed forms and ghostly paradigms of things. Here, nothing warms this lightening moment of the dawn, pale tendrils spreading east. And I, of all who followed Him, by far the least . . . The women take no note of me; I do not recognize the men in white, the gardener, these unfamiliar skies . . . Faint scent of roses, then―a touch! I turn, and I see: You. "My Lord, why do You tarry here: Another waits, Whose love is true?" "Although My Father waits, and bliss; though angels call―ecstatic crew!― I gathered roses for a Friend. I waited here, for You." Come Spring by Michael R. Burch for the Religious Right Come spring we return, innocent and hopeful, to the Virgin, beseeching Her to bestow Her blessings upon us. Pitiable sinners, we bow before Her, nay, grovel, as She looms above us, aglow in Her Purity. We know all will change in an instant; therefore in the morning we will call her, an untouched maiden no more, “w***e.” The so-called Religious Right prizes virginity in women and damns them for doing what men do. I have long been a fan of women like Tallulah Bankhead, Marilyn Monroe and Mae West, who decided what’s good for the gander is equally good for the goose. Kingdom Freedom by Michael R. Burch LORD, grant me a rare sweet spirit of forgiveness. Let me have none of the lividness of religious outrage. LORD, let me not be over-worried about the lack of “morality” around me. Surround me, not with law’s restrictive cage, but with Your spirit, freer than the wind, so that to breathe is to have freest life, and not to fly to You, my only sin. Everlasting by Michael R. Burch Where the wind goes when the storm dies, there my spirit lives though I close my eyes. Do not weep for me; I am never far. Whisper my name to the last star ... then let me sleep, think of me no more. Still ... By denying death its terminal sting, in my words I remain everlasting. Keywords/Tags: Adam, Eve, Eden, Lucifer, fall, sin, temptation, heaven, hell, salvation, God, Yahweh, Jehovah, creation, Jesus, Cain, Abel © 2024 Michael R. Burch |
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